


Loyalty for Felicity

by osprey_archer



Category: American Girls Books - Various Authors, American Girls: Felicity - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Felicity and Elizabeth were children, their family's political differences never seemed to matter to their friendship. But now that they're getting older, their beliefs create a rift between them. Can their friendship be saved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patriots and Loyalists

On a crisp day in mid-May, Felicity arrived at Elizabeth’s house, her red cloak flapping behind her as she rode Penny to the door. She hitched Penny to the post herself – the Coles’ footman had run off to join the Revolutionary Army, to win his freedom – and dashed up the steps. “Elizabeth!” she called. “Elizabeth!”

“Lissie!” Elizabeth darted out of the parlor, flinging her arms around Felicity as if they had not seen each other in weeks, though in fact they had giggled over _As You Like It_ together only the day before. She kissed Felicity’s wind-reddened cheeks. “Aren’t you early for our ride?”

“A little,” Felicity said breathlessly. “But I had to talk to you. Today a man came to our store with a letter from – ” She caught herself and looked around for Annabelle. She did not want to talk about Ben’s letter in front of Elizabeth’s sister! 

“Annabelle’s at the Wilcoxes,” Elizabeth said. She clasped her hands together, swaying with anticipation. “Is it from…?”

“Yes!” Felicity squealed, and covered her mouth with one hand. 

“Come along,” Elizabeth whispered conspiratorially. They dashed down the hall to the Cole’s garden and settled themselves in the pergola, under the climbing roses. Elizabeth leaned over Felicity’s shoulder as Felicity drew the letter from her pocket. Her hair smelled of chamomile: a wash meant to bring out the light in her blonde locks. Not that Elizabeth’s hair needed any help being lovely!

“You’re distracting me,” Felicity complained, giving Elizabeth a friendly push away. Elizabeth obediently scooted over a little, and Felicity was sorry: she liked Elizabeth close. 

But Felicity had other things to think about, like the creased and travel-stained letter in her hands. “It’s from Ben,” she said, just for the pleasure of saying his name. “It’s taken ages to get here, it must have gotten lost. Poor Ben, he probably thought I was so horrified by his news I couldn’t even write…”

“Horrified!” cried Elizabeth. “Why, Felicity, Ben’s never gone and got himself engaged to someone else!”

“No, no,” Felicity said hastily. “He’d never! I mean…” 

He very well might, of course. In his mind she was probably still just the gangly, headstrong child who stole his best trousers so she could ride a horse that wasn’t even her own. 

“Of course he won’t get engaged to anyone else,” Elizabeth said stoutly. “But then what did happen, Felicity?” 

Felicity suddenly felt shy explaining. She ran her fingers along the crease of the letter. “You remember he was at Valley Forge?” 

“Of course!” 

“He’s serving under General Washington, you know,” said Felicity, her voice full with pride. “He says he’s never met a braver or more dignified man, and – ”

“Felicity,” Elizabeth interrupted. “What happened to Ben?” 

“He got frostbite,” Felicity said. “He lost some toes, and…and two fingers…”

Elizabeth gasped. She placed a hand on Felicity’s shoulder. “Oh, poor Ben!” 

“If only I’d knit him a pair of socks, as I’d meant to,” Felicity said. “Instead of spending so much time riding Penny.”

“You are not allowed to blame yourself, Felicity Merriman! Ben should have stocked up on warm socks, and that’s that!” 

A shadow lifted from Felicity’s heart. “You’re right,” she said. “Of course, I don’t really blame myself. If only that ridiculous King George would admit he’s got no right to rule us now that we want to rule ourselves, and pull out his wicked soldiers, then – ”

“Wicked?” Elizabeth said. “They’re only loyal men fighting as their king tells them to, and – and King George is not ridiculous!” 

Felicity was mortified. “Oh, I am so sorry. I forgot that you’re a Loyalist – I mean, of course I forget, as you’re not _really_ a Loyalist – ”

“Not really a Loyalist?” said Elizabeth. Her lips were so tight they trembled. 

“I mean – I mean, your family is, of course, but I don’t think of you as – I mean, you can’t be, Elizabeth, you’re my friend, and Loyalists are…are…”

 _Wicked_ , she wanted to say, or _ridiculous_. But Elizabeth was very pale, and Felicity felt suddenly that she had stepped over the edge of an abyss. “Is that what you think of my family?” Elizabeth demanded. She stood up, hands on her hips. “Is that what you think of me? 

“No, of course not,” Felicity said, studying her lap. 

“Yes, it is! Don’t take it back now, Lissie, you just said so. Well, I am proud to be loyal to King George and his majesty’s government in London!” 

“But how can you be?” Felicity burst out. “How can you be loyal to the king after all that he’s done to us? Quartering soldiers among us, and, and…” She scrambled to remember what other iniquities the king had committed. The Merrimans were so firmly revolutionary that it rarely seemed necessary to discuss why. “And raising taxes!” Felicity cried triumphantly. 

“Taxes!” Elizabeth said. “We paid higher taxes in London. And where do you think those taxes go? It’s not like there are Picts marauding through Devonshire. No, it goes to the colonies to protect _you_ against the French. And when we asked for you to contribute some of the money for your own protection, you all squalled like a spoiled child!”

Felicity’s temper flared. “Well, we can protect ourselves now!” she shouted, and she was on her feet too now, glaring at Elizabeth. “General Washington will – ”

“Your brave and dignified General Washington started out in the king’s army! And he got defeated by the _French_!” 

Felicity barely restrained herself from punching Elizabeth. “He’s a good soldier, the _best_ soldier!” Felicity said. He had to be: Ben was marching after him into battle, and how could Felicity live with it if Ben died following a fool? “You’ll see, he’ll whip your stupid Cornwallis. And – and – and even if he doesn’t, at least he’s fighting for freedom! I’d rather fight for freedom and lose, than win while fighting for tyranny!”

The two girls stared at each other, breathing hard. “If you don’t understand that,” Felicity said, her voice trembling, “I don’t see how we can be friends anymore.” 

Elizabeth was pale but determined. “And I don’t see how I can be friends with someone who know the first thing about loyalty. I think…I think you had better leave.”

A lock of blonde hair fell in Elizabeth’s eyes. She blew it away. It would have looked comical, but now the sight just made Felicity want to cry. 

“Fine!” Felicity cried. She stormed out of the garden, pulling her red cloak tight about her. Her hands shook as she unhitched Penny. She would not cry. It took two tries to settle herself securely in the sidesaddle. She didn’t care if she never talked to Elizabeth again! “I don’t want to be friends with traitors, anyway!” she told Elizabeth, nudging Penny to walk. 

“You’re the traitor!” Elizabeth shouted.

Felicity kicked Penny to canter. She was far out of Elizabeth’s sight before she started to cry.


	2. Fair Fellow Sufferers

The next months dragged for Felicity. Her guitar seemed perpetually out of tune, her garden full of weeds, and her favorite books flat and uninteresting. Only Penny, snuffling at her pockets for carrots, made her happy: and even then, gloom slipped over her again when she took any of Elizabeth’s favorite rides. 

Felicity did not ride much. She sat in windows and scowled and snapped so often that her little brother and sister, William and Polly, gave up asking her to play with them. 

“You’ve become such a fine lady,” Felicity’s other sister, Nan, told her, as they sat over their mending.

Felicity summoned a smile. It sat uneasily on her lips. “Aren’t you glad?”

Nan hesitated, pulling her thread. “Yes?” she said, and frowned, like the word tasted strange to her. 

Felicity tried to write a letter to Ben, to reassure him she would adore him even if he lost his whole left arm, but she felt shy of saying something so blatant to a boy who – she was ever more aware – was not her brother. 

And somehow, all her letters circled back to her fight with Elizabeth and the fact that she had not seen her best friends in days – weeks – a month. It feels like I’ve lost a limb, Felicity wrote, and was mortified: how could she write that to a man who had just lost two fingers? She fed the draft to the candle flame. 

But that was how she felt. She and Elizabeth had done everything together: admired beautiful horses (and sometimes their handsome riders), practiced dancing minuets, taught each other new songs, and taken long, long rides in the countryside, picking berries and plotting fantastic voyages to find Prospero’s Isle and chatting about Pamela and Pope and, oh, everything under the sun – 

It was not like losing a limb, exactly. It was if her sense of joy had been amputated. 

There was work to do, of course: bread to be baked, the garden to be weeded, endless mending on William’s trousers – “How can a ten-year-old rip his clothes so often?” Felicity demanded, hurling William’s shirt at the floor. 

“I believe when you were ten, you ripped your clothes even more than William does,” Mrs. Merriman said gently.

In the face of her mother’s mildness, Felicity’s outburst embarrassed her. “My skirts caught under my feet when I ran,” she protested, picking up William’s shirt again. “William must be jumping off barns,” she added, trying to sound light, but even to herself her voice sounded dull. 

Her mother shook her head. She smiled, but her eyes, resting on her daughter’s bent head, looked concerned. “Such an outburst isn’t like you, Lissie,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Felicity concentrated on her stitches. “Of course,” she said. 

“We haven’t seen Elizabeth for a while,” Mrs. Merriman said. “Did you two fight?” 

“No,” said Felicity. “She’s just – busy.” 

“She’s been busy for two months?” 

“Mother!” cried Felicity, crushing William’s shirt in her lap. She took a deep breath. “I apologize. That was rude and disrespectful. But please, please, Mother, I can’t bear to talk about Elizabeth right now.” 

“So you did fight.” 

Hot tears flooded Felicity’s eyes. She blinked rapidly. But her soldierly resolve not to cry crumpled, and she hid her face in William’s shirt so her mother couldn’t see. “Oh, it’s the war,” Felicity wept. “This stupid war, and politics, a-and – ”

Mrs. Merriman’s arms encircled her. Felicity turned her head and cried into her mother’s shoulder, as if she were a little girl again and not an almost-young-lady of fourteen. “You’ve always known the Coles were Loyalists,” Mrs. Merriman said. 

“I know,” sobbed Felicity. “But that d-d-didn’t mean _Elizabeth_ had to be!” 

Mrs. Merriman smoothed Felicity’s hair. “Elizabeth is a loyal girl,” she said gently. “I think it would take a great deal to make her turn against the beliefs of her family.”

“But there has been – there has been a great deal!” Felicity cried. She sat up indignantly, her face flushed with tears and anger. “Why, just think of all the – the indignities and usurpations the king has inflicted on us!” Since her argument with Elizabeth she had reread the declaration, burning with fury at the king’s injustice. Why could she not have recalled them all to fling in Elizabeth’s face? “He’s dissolved our legislatures when they don’t suit him, and refused to call new ones because he wants to rule like a tyrant, and although we have no representation in Parliament, he’s imposed all these ridiculous – ” 

She recalled Elizabeth’s scorn about taxation without representation, and changed direction. “And…and now his insistence on this war! Think of the poor soldiers freezing at Valley Forge, because the king can’t bear to admit he’s lost the consent of the governed and let us go.” 

“Yes,” her mother said. “You know I agree with you, Lissie. But Elizabeth may never do so. Is this disagreement worth losing her over?” She put her hands on Felicity’s shoulders, looking into her face. “You’ve been friends for years despite politics.”

“It…it just seems to matter more now,” Felicity said. Tears started in her eyes again. “I miss her so much,” she admitted. 

“Write to her,” Mrs. Merriman said.

“But what could I say?” Felicity asked. “I can’t apologize. I meant everything I said.”

“Ask if you can put the disagreement behind you,” Mrs. Merriman advised. “Tell her you know that you can never agree, but you want to remain friends anyway.”

Mrs. Merriman went back to her seat and took up the gown she was lengthening for Polly. Felicity stared unseeing at William’s shirt in her hands. My dear Elizabeth, she would write, in the beautiful hand they had both learned from Miss Manderley. _I’ve missed you so much, and I don’t care that we disagree about everything, I…_

Felicity’s throat closed. “I _can’t_ ,” she said. “What if…what if she doesn’t write back?”

“Then at least you tried,” Mrs. Merriman said. 

Felicity bent over her sewing. But late, late that night, she slipped out of bed and lit her candle. She twirled her goose quill pen between her fingers for a long time before settling down to write. _You left your copy of The Castle of Otranto with me_ , she wrote, finally. _Perhaps you can come retrieve it – or I, bring it to you – and we can eat raspberries (they have ripened since last we spoke) and discuss the book. I am convinced Hippolita would be an infinitely more satisfactory character, if she added Spirit to her store of Virtues._

Felicity read the page over one, twice, thrice before she sprinkled it with pounce to dry the ink. Elizabeth would know it for an apology, she was sure. Perhaps she would even come the next afternoon! They could have raspberry fool and laugh at the delicious excesses of The Castle of Otranto together. Giant helmets falling out of the sky, indeed! 

She felt so much lighter that she finally completed her letter to Ben, as well. _I don’t think any less of you – indeed, I think more of you – for your sacrifices for our country. I kiss your hands._

The last sentence was perhaps overwarm. She left it in anyway, and sent both letters off in the morning. 

But Elizabeth did not reply. 

Felicity tried to put it out of her mind. She had adored _The Castle of Otranto_ : she was more than happy to keep it, she told herself, and promptly hid it at the back of her wardrobe so she need never look at it again. 

She took to rereading Paine’s pamphlets on _The American Crisis_ , instead. _Would that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment!_ Sitting on her bench in the garden, Felicity reread that sentence in the failing twilight. They still owned some breeches Ben had outgrown, saving them against the day William might grow into them…

And what a relief it would be, not to be haunted by the memory of Elizabeth’s presence everywhere she went! 

“Felicity?”

Felicity dropped the pamphlet with a gasp. She thought for a moment that the soft voice had been conjured by her own memory, and the ghost-like figure at the gate just a figment from an imagination overheated by Gothic novels. 

But the figure shifted from foot to foot, as Elizabeth did when she was nervous, and Felicity gave an inarticulate cry and dashed across the garden. She held her hands over the fence, and Elizabeth grasped them, her fingers cold in Felicity’s warm hands. “Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so glad to – But what are you doing here? And at this time of night!”

“I had to come,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes gleamed in the fading light. “I had to see you once more, before – oh, Felicity! My father has decided we cannot stay any longer in the colonies. We sail for England tomorrow!”


	3. Runaways!

It was too late, Mrs. Merriman said, for Elizabeth to walk back through Williamsburg: she would have to stay the night. Felicity could have kissed her mother for it

“Thank you, Mrs. Merriman,” Elizabeth said with a pretty curtsey. “Our ship doesn’t leave till the afternoon.”

But as soon as Felicity shut her bedroom door, Elizabeth’s good manners fled, and she grabbed Felicity’s hands so tightly as to be painful. “We have to run away,” Elizabeth said, low but fierce. 

Felicity was stunned. She had often imagined running away to join the Patriot armies, but – proper Elizabeth! “What do you mean?” Felicity gasped. 

Elizabeth moved restlessly around the room, her emotions so high that she seemed almost feverish. “They mean to marry me to my cousin,” she said, her eyes widening so that the reflected candle flames seemed to dance in her irises. “I can’t stand him, Felicity. He is a horrid boy with a perpetually running nose.”

“Perhaps he’s changed,” Felicity said. “It’s been five years since you’ve seen him.”

“He’s cruel to horses!” Elizabeth cried, forgetting for the moment to keep her voice soft. 

“Oh.” Felicity sat on her bed, her skirts billowing about her. She smoothed them. Her mind whirled like a spindle, and like a spindle, a slender thread of an idea began to form under Felicity’s hands. “We’ll have to dress as boys,” she said. 

“All right,” said Elizabeth. 

“We still have some of Ben’s outgrown clothes,” said Felicity. “And we’ll both ride Penny – it’s horse-stealing otherwise; she’s the only one that’s mine – and we’ll go…”

There was the rub. Where could they go? Elizabeth would never join the Patriot Army. And they could not just roam the countryside: they would be taken for runaway apprentices, even horse thieves. 

“We don’t need to run for long,” Elizabeth said. She leaned against the bedpost, her cheek pressed against the wood and her eyelashes shadowing her face. “Just long enough for the boat to leave without me.”

“But your parents will just wait for the next boat, surely,” Felicity objected. 

“No,” said Elizabeth. “They’ve always liked Annabelle better anyway. And this way, we’ll be together, you and I – oh, Felicity, that _stupid_ fight – ”

“Oh, it was my fault!” Felicity cried, bounding to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. I was so terribly rude, and I didn’t mean – I mean I did mean, but – oh…”

“Hush,” said Elizabeth. She wrapped her arms around Felicity, burying her nose in Felicity’s shoulders. Her face was hot, like she was holding back tears. “Or I shall have to be angry with you again, and then we can’t run away together, and I’ll have to go to England and I’ll never see you again.”

Felicity’s eyes filled with tears. “No,” she said, hugging Elizabeth fiercely. “This has been the worst summer of my life. I couldn’t bear never seeing you again.”

“It’s been my worst summer too,” Elizabeth said. 

Felicity gave her one last squeeze, then stepped back and looked her in the face. “I’ve got an idea.” Felicity said. “Ever since Grandfather died, Mama’s been saying that we ought not to leave its running to the overseer.” Elizabeth looked puzzled. “Oh, don’t you see! Mother doesn’t think I’m responsible enough to run it on my own, but you are so responsible, surely she’ll see we can run it together! And we’ll never need to be apart again.”

“Oh, Felicity, it’s wonderful!” Elizabeth cried, and flung her arms around Felicity again. 

When the house was quiet, Felicity fetched Ben’s old clothes. Slender Elizabeth made a sweet boy, but Felicity – 

“Oh, I _wish_ I weren’t a girl,” Felicity said, stomping a foot on the floor. When she was nine, she had made a perfect boy: but with her breasts, no one would mistake her for one now! 

“I’m glad you’re a girl,” Elizabeth said stoutly. “You’d have run away to join the army long since if you weren’t, and I should be heartbroken.” 

Felicity sighed. 

“Perhaps you can…tie them back?” Elizabeth suggested. 

It worked well enough. They slipped out of the house to the stable, Elizabeth holding tight to Felicity’s arm. Her trembling fingers told of her fear, but even when she stumbled over a root in the garden, she didn’t make a sound. 

And they were off!

Penny’s hoofs seemed terribly loud in the eerie, empty streets of Williamsburg. Felicity remembered the night that she and Ben and Isaac had gone to warn the townsfolk that the British were taking the powder out of the garrison. She shivered. She had not realized then how dangerous their errand had been. 

How dark it was! Felicity loved riding so much that she sometimes lost track of time and came home in the deep purple dusk, with owls hooting and bats swooping low overhead. But never before had she ridden after midnight. 

And never before had her late rides taken her into the forest, where the trees overhead screened the thin milky light of the moon. She could barely see the road. And as for looking into the trees – they could have been riding between black walls for all Felicity could see anything.

She could hear, though, and the sounds were not nearly as comforting as owl’s hoots. In the forest, twigs cracked; frogs croaked; strange things creaked and flapped and squeaked in the night. Far away, something gave a dying shriek. Sweat dripped down Felicity’s back. 

Behind her, Elizabeth shivered. “Are you scared?” Felicity asked. 

“Cold,” Elizabeth said. 

Cold? But it was August, and more than warm enough. Probably she just didn’t want to admit she was frightened. “Maybe we should sing?” Felicity suggested. “For the English – ” She cleared her throat, and tried again. “For the English charm me with their smiles and yet they fail to bind me – ”

Elizabeth joined in. “For the heart falls back to wear its bound, to the girl I left behind me.”

But their voices seemed so high and thin and small in that vast darkness that they fell silent again at once. The sounds of the forest seemed to press in on them. 

On and on they rode, and even Felicity, who loved riding, grew tired of it. Sometimes they got off and walked beside Penny to give the horse a rest. It felt like time wasn’t really passing: like they had always been riding and walking through the dark woods, with the strange frightening sounds in the undergrowth, and the trees casting fat shadows across the path, hiding roots and stones that made them stumble. 

“I don’t think I can walk any farther,” Elizabeth said, hoarse-voiced. Water: they should have brought that too. Oh, why hadn’t they planned this better?

“Ride Penny,” Felicity said, holding her hands for Elizabeth to use as a mounting stirrup. “I’ll lead her.”

Slowly, slowly the moon moved across the sky; and slowly, slowly the sky began to soften toward gray; and just when Felicity thought she would never be able to lift her foot for another step, she saw the neat fence that marked the entrance to her grandfather’s plantation.

“Elizabeth!” Felicity cheered. “We’re almost there!”

Elizabeth lifted her head at Felicity. Her face looked flushed, but she grinned tiredly. 

Felicity climbed the fence to remount Penny. She wanted to enter the plantation in style. The fence wobbled beneath her feet. The overseer clearly was not keeping the place up as he should. Felicity was secretly glad: all the more reason to let her and Elizabeth take over, after all!

They rode down the lane of oak trees leading toward the plantation. Felicity felt some of the tension of the night drain out of her, just following that familiar path. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said to Elizabeth. 

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. But she didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. Felicity felt a flicker of irritation – but of course Elizabeth must be exhausted. 

A snapped twig was all the warning they got. Suddenly a man loomed out of the trees and grabbed Penny’s reins. Penny reared. Elizabeth screamed and grabbed Felicity’s waist.

“Who’s that now?” the man said, tugging viciously at the reins.. His red nose shown in the moonlight, and Felicity recognized him: the overseer. “Deserters, maybe, stealing an officer’s mount? Down, girl!” he barked, and smacked Penny’s neck. 

Penny reared again. “Stop it!” Felicity shouted at the overseer, but he hit Penny again. Again Penny reared, and Felicity’s hat flew off, so her hair tumbled around her face. 

“What’s this now?” the overseer barked, so surprised that he let go of Penny’s reins. Penny shied away, and Felicity stroked her mare’s head, murmuring soothing things and hating the overseer. Elizabeth held onto her so hard that Felicity’s ribs ached from the touch. “What’s _this_ ,” he said, striding toward them and reaching for Felicity’s hair. 

She smacked his hand away. His face darkened and he grabbed her arm. “Unhand me!” she ordered. “I’m Felicity Merriman. I own this plantation; my family pays your wages. Unhand me _now_!”

He let go. But his eyes lingered rudely on her trousered legs. Felicity’s heart pounded in her throat. “Fetch Dido,” she ordered. He didn’t leave, and something like panic bubbled in her throat. “Go on,” she ordered. 

“You don’t want help stabling that pretty horse?” the overseer leered. 

“No,” Felicity said frostily, and finally, finally he left, whistling. Whistling! Felicity felt sick and shaky. 

Her knees almost buckled under her as she slid off Penny’s back. And the shakiness didn’t leave her as she and Elizabeth entered the plantation house. Somehow, although she knew it couldn’t be so, Felicity had imagined the house as warm and welcoming as it had been when her grandfather was alive: full of sunshine, spotlessly clean, smelling of her grandfather’s pipe tobacco.

Instead, it was dark and stuffy, the shutters shut tight. A thin layer of dust had settled on everything, and it puffed up around their feet as they walked. Elizabeth coughed. 

“I’m so sorry,” Felicity said, her throat clenching with something like despair. 

“No, no!” Elizabeth protested, coughing. “This just means there’s so much for us to do, Felicity. If we get it all cleaned up before your mother finds us, she’ll have to let us stay. Don’t you think?”

Felicity looked at a thin line of light that slipped between a crooked shutter. All their hopes suddenly seemed very small and silly. “Yes,” she said. 

“She has to let us stay,” said Elizabeth, and to Felicity’s astonishment, Elizabeth burst into tears and sat down on the bottom stair. 

“She will!” Felicity said, sitting next to her and putting an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. She pulled her friend close, pulling off the cap that had hidden Elizabeth’s hair and smoothing out her friend’s curls. Elizabeth seemed to radiate heat, like a brick warmed for a wintertime sleigh ride. 

Felicity’s heart beat at her throat again, worse even than when they confronted the overseer. “I’ll…I’ll get us some water,” Felicity faltered. “And maybe you ought to lie down, and…” 

Elizabeth looked up at her. Her cheeks were so red as to seem rouged, especially given how pale the skin around her mouth was. 

Felicity gave a little strangled sound and hugged Elizabeth again, burying her face in Elizabeth’s hair. Elizabeth was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be fine. 

“My land,” said Dido. Felicity released Elizabeth and stumbled to her feet, glaring at the slender, stooped slave woman so ferociously that Dido stopped staring at Felicity’s trousers and instead looked meekly at her own bare feet. 

“The house is dirty!” Felicity shouted. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” Dido said. “We didn’t know you were coming.”

Felicity could have shouted for an hour and been glad of it. But Grandfather always said it was the coward’s way to shout at slaves when you were angry about something else - angry or frightened. 

Just thinking about her grandfather made Felicity’s eyes fill with tears again. Oh, she was so tired. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “We came all in a hurry – oh, Dido, this is Elizabeth – stand up?” she said to Elizabeth. Elizabeth grasped the rail and pulled herself half to her feet, then fell back on the step. 

Felicity kept talking, faster and faster, as if she could bring things back under control just by talking. “We had to, you know, they were going to marry Elizabeth to her cousin who beats horses – any man who beats horses would make a horrid husband, don’t you think? I can’t abide people who hit horses. The overseer hit Penny! He’s a nasty man! Next time I see my mother I’m telling her we ought to hire a new one.” 

“He’s an overseer,” Dido replied.

“I don’t care. He shouldn’t hit horses. I don’t think it helps them any. There’s nothing in the Bible about sparing the rod and spoiling the horse, Dido. I bet horses don’t even have original sin.”

But Dido wasn’t listening. She knelt beside Elizabeth, lifting Elizabeth’s chin with her fingers. “Stick out your tongue, doll,” she said gently. 

Elizabeth did. Felicity shrank back at her friend’s scarlet tongue, spotted all over with swollen red dots. “What is it?” Felicity asked, trying not to sound panicked. 

Dido looked up at Felicity, and Felicity was startled to see something like pity in her eyes. “It’s scarlet fever, miss,” she said.


	4. Vigil

Felicity shut the door to Elizabeth’s bedroom. She leaned back against it, sliding to sit; but her knees shook so badly that halfway down she abruptly lost control and fell the rest of the way. She dropped her sweaty forehead against her knee. 

She had barely slept since she and Elizabeth had arrived on the plantation, and now it was noon on their second day, and in the August heat, Elizabeth’s temperature was soaring. She had not recognized Felicity as Felicity bathed her face. 

Felicity stood up. Her knees still felt weak. Oh, she was so tired. “I have to fetch my mother,” she told Dido. “She knows everything about fevers and – everything; and you can watch Elizabeth, you looked after Polly so well last summer. I’ll put my trousers back on and ride Penny.”

“I don’t think you can ride in that state, miss,” Dido said. 

Dido watched over the Merriman children when they visited the plantation: Felicity was used to deferring to her judgment, or at least considering it. She considered it now, checking her pockets for a handkerchief – and then realizing that she had forgotten to tie on her pockets when she dressed that morning.

Well. Perhaps Dido was right. 

“But I can’t send Mr. Jameson,” Felicity said, naming the overseer. “He’ll just get drunk in Williamsburg.”

“I reckon he will, miss,” Dido said. 

“I could…” Felicity began to pace, twisting her hands together. “I could walk to the Smiths and…and ask them to send a message, and…”

“’Fraid they’re not here, miss,” Dido said. Felicity scrunched her fists and slammed a foot against the floor. “Now that’ll just wake her up.” 

“Oh – !” Felicity clamped her lips together. She flapped her arms, trying to shake off some of her feelings. There must be a way to get a message to Williamsburg – there had to be a way! “Dido! If I wrote a pass, one of you could leave the plantation to run the message, right?”

Dido’s face froze for a moment: then softly she said “Yes,” and more loudly, “My boy Marcus is the fastest.” 

“Good.” Felicity strode down the stairs, her new purpose strengthening her knees. Her mother would know how to save Elizabeth: her mother knew everything. She just had to get a message to her. Felicity snatched a quill from her grandfather’s inkstand. Still sharp, as if he’d just cut it before he went to Williamsburg for the last time. Tears misted her eyes. She cleared her throat, riffling through the drawers for paper. “Can he ride? That’s faster. He can take Penny.”

“No,” Dido said sharply. “You love that horse too much. I mean – I don’t think she’ll run for anyone but you, miss.” 

Felicity found a clean sheet of paper. “She still doesn’t like strange men,” she admitted. “Bucephalus, then? Unless he’s been sold?”

“No, he’s still here. And Marcus can ride him.” 

So Felicity sent Marcus to Williamsburg, and went back upstairs with a bowl of lavender water to bathe Elizabeth’s heated face. A scarlet rash covered her shoulders and chest, as if her pale skin had been pricked by dozens of pins. 

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open briefly. She could not quiet seem to focus. “Annabelle?” Elizabeth mumbled. “Annabelle…sorry I took…” 

Felicity swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Hush little baby,” she sang. Her voice was husky at first, but it gained strength as she heard in her mind her own mother singing the words. “Don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

Her mother was coming. Everything would be fine. 

***

Dido knocked lightly on the doorframe, rousing Felicity from her doze at Elizabeth’s bedside. Elizabeth’s hand was hot and clammy in hers. “Miss Felicity?” Dido said. “Carriage coming.”

Felicity stumbled to her feet and went to the window. There, on the drive – she stared – it was the Coles’ carriage, carrying Mrs. Cole and Annabelle and Felicity’s mother! “But that’s not possible,” Felicity gasped. “We only sent Marcus at noon!” 

Dido shrugged. Felicity hurried past her, taking the stairs two at a time and flying out the front door. She stood on the drive, straight-backed and proud as the carriage pulled up. 

Usually, Mrs. Cole descended from carriages with the beatific grace of an angel. Today, however, she burst out of the carriage and strode toward Felicity so fiercely that it took all of Felicity’s strength not to step back. “Where is my daughter?” Mrs. Cole demanded. 

“She’s inside, she – ” 

“Inside! Tell her to come out at once!” 

“She – ”

Mrs. Cole was pale with fury. “I always thought you had a good heart under your rough colonial ways, but now I see Annabelle was right that I should have kept Elizabeth away from you. How dare you convince her to run away with you? How dare you keep her away from me? Bring her out at once!” 

“She has scarlet fever!” Felicity shouted. “Dido’s looking after her upstairs.” 

Silence. Mrs. Cole’s rage-pale face whitened further. She caught up her skirts and hurried into the house. Annabelle followed. She didn’t even look at Felicity. 

But Felicity wasn’t looking at Annabelle anyway, because her attention was riveted on her mother, who had gotten out of the carriage. She did not come toward Felicity, but stood beside the carriage, and Felicity was suddenly struck by the unreasoning fear that her mother would get back inside the carriage and sweep away.

“Mother,” Felicity cried. 

Mrs. Merriman stared at Felicity, and Felicity felt small beneath her gaze. Even when Felicity had stolen Penny from Jiggy Nye, her mother had not looked so ashamed of her. 

“Why?” Mrs. Merriman asked. “Why did you convince Elizabeth to run away with you, Lissie?”

The injustice of the accusation shocked Felicity. It was Elizabeth who had suggested running away! “I – !” she began, and caught herself. Of course they believed it had been Felicity’s idea: sensible Elizabeth would never do anything so rash. Sensible Elizabeth! Why hadn’t Felicity realized that she must be ill, even to suggest such a foolish scheme? 

And of course Felicity couldn’t tell them. It would be dishonorable to tell when Elizabeth was too sick to defend herself; and no one would believe Felicity, anyway. 

Her mother was still looking at her, searching Felicity’s face for an answer. “I don’t know,” Felicity whispered. She said again, louder, “I don’t know, Mother. I’m sorry. I…”

“And now Elizabeth has a fever?” her mother said. 

A knot swelled in Felicity’s throat. She nodded. Without another word, Mrs. Merriman went into the house. Felicity closed her eyes, swaying with tiredness. Her eyes burned. She took a deep breath, and followed her mother inside. 

***

They would not let Felicity back into Elizabeth’s sickroom. “The Coles don’t want to see you right now,” Mrs. Merriman said. “Can you see why, Felicity?”

“Yes,” Felicity said, although she felt that if she weren’t let into Elizabeth’s sickroom, she would die. What if Elizabeth – ? 

No! Elizabeth would be fine. 

Maybe Mrs. Merriman saw the struggle in Felicity’s face, because for the first time, her face gentled. “Go rest,” she told Felicity gently. “How long have you been awake?” 

But Felicity could not rest. She waited in the little parlor down stairs, trying to sit on the sofa below the window; but she kept springing up to pace. The sky turned scarlet, deepening to purple, then blue, and then black, lit by a moon behind shreds of cloud, then and fair as bleached flax. 

How was Elizabeth? Earlier, it had been easy enough to push aside the fear the Elizabeth might die. But as she paced in the moonlight, her shadow black beneath her feet, the fear clogged Felicity’s throat. How was Elizabeth? Had her fever gone down? Elizabeth was strong. Of course she would be fine. Of course.

She had to be. 

Oh, why did no one come tell Felicity what was happening?

Suddenly Felicity could not stand it anymore. She left the little parlor, catching herself just before she slammed the door shut behind her. The noise would alert Mrs. Merriman and the Coles that she was coming. Quiet, quiet…

The stairs creaked in the middle, she remembered. She lined her feet up along the sides, taking each step slowly, holding her breath. 

Top of the stairs. Elizabeth’s room was just down the hall. Felicity crept down it, quiet as a cat, and stopped outside the door. 

For a long time, there was silence. A cough: Annabelle. Soft murmurs. 

Oh! Felicity nearly shouted with vexation. She couldn’t hear anything through the thick oak doors: her grandfather had built them strong, as he built everything, and of course they were talking softly, softly, so as not to disturb Elizabeth. 

The sound of a nose blowing. Felicity leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. When had she last slept? The dark hall, the muffled 

Suddenly the door opened, spilling a swath of lantern light across the hall. Before Felicity could move away, Annabelle stepped out. Her nose was red, her eyes red-rimmed, and her carefully composed hair falling out from under its cap. Felicity just had time to think, _So she does love Elizabeth, after all_ before Annabelle noticed her. 

Annabelle stopped, staring at Felicity in shock. Felicity thought with horror that Annabelle would go back and tell Mrs. Cole that Felicity was creeping around outside Elizabeth’s door. But instead Annabelle shut the door firmly behind her and grabbed Felicity’s arm, propelling her back along the hallway and down the stairs. Her fingers bit into the Felicity’s skin. 

They went through the little parlor, out the back door into the flower garden, and there at last Annabelle stopped. “This is all your fault,” she cried. “If you hadn’t convinced Bitsy to run away, then she’d be safe and well right now, instead of dying!” 

_Dying._

“She’d never have done or even imagined doing something like this, before you corrupted her with your rough colonial ways. Bitsy used – ”

“Don’t call her Bitsy!” Felicity cried. She wrenched away from Annabelle’s hand and fled. 

Her tears overcame her in the forest, not far from where she had found Ben when he ran away to try to join the army. She stumbled to his old hiding place and cast herself down. Annabelle was _right_ – oh, not that Felicity had convinced Elizabeth to run away; but Elizabeth would never have done so if Felicity hadn’t seized on the idea so readily! Why hadn’t Felicity talked her out of it, as she had talked Ben out of running away?

She did not know how long she cried there before her mother’s voice called her back to herself. “Felicity?” Mrs. Merriman said, and Felicity looked up to see her mother sitting on a log beside her. 

Felicity was sobbing too hard to answer. Mrs. Merriman sat quietly, her hands folded in the lap of her dress. She made no move to comfort Felicity – and rightly so, Felicity thought, trying to bite back her sobs. Felicity had as good as killed her best friend through her own willfulness: what possible comfort could there be for that? 

But Felicity’s wild sobs eventually slowed, and she became aware of the warm pressure of her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “Felicity, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Merriman asked. 

Felicity could not tell her what Annabelle said. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself enough to speak, and finally squeaked, “Is Elizabeth going to die?”

“I can’t hear you,” Mrs. Merriman said. 

Felicity tried to speak again, but only another sob came out. Mrs. Merriman offered her a handkerchief. Felicity blew her tear-clogged nose. Mrs. Merriman offered Felicity her hand. Felicity took it, and rose shakily to her feet.

They walked through the forest together, back toward the plantation. The night was warm. They passed the slave cabins, dark and silent; the tobacco fields, and the herb garden, and the flower garden right by the house. The hollyhocks wavered in a soft breeze. 

Felicity stopped at the threshold. It took three tries for her to get the words out. “Is Elizabeth going to die?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Merriman said. She took Felicity’s hand in both of hers. “If her fever breaks tonight, she’ll recover.”

“If not?” Felicity asked hoarsely. 

“Don’t borrow trouble till we come to it, Lissie.”

Felicity nodded, trying to feel her mother’s gentle stoic acceptance. But despite herself, tears started again. “It’s all my fault,” she whispered. “I never should have agreed to – suggested we run away. If Elizabeth dies its all my fault.” 

“Listen to me,” her mother said. She took Felicity’s hands in hers. “You and Elizabeth behaved very, very foolishly. But – ” She lifted a hand to Felicity’s cheek. “Elizabeth was probably already sickening when you ran away. She never would have agreed to such a thing if her mind wasn’t confused.”

“But that’s why I should have stopped us, don’t you see, I should have – ”

Mrs. Merriman raised a hand. Felicity fell silent. “Do you know how quickly disease spreads on shipboard?” Mrs. Merriman said. “It rushes through it like a fire. If Elizabeth had gotten on ship as planned, who knows how many people would now be sickening, even dead?”

“But she might not be so sick at all if we hadn’t gone riding through the night air,” Felicity said. “She might – ”

“Felicity,” her mother said, and took Felicity’s face between her hands. “Don’t torture yourself like this.”

Felicity started down at her hands, twisting the used handkerchief around her fingers. She tried to feel comforted, but it was hard to care about ship passengers she’d never met, when Elizabeth might be dying. 

“I can’t help it,” Felicity said. Her voice cracked. 

Mrs. Merriman kissed her forehead. “Try to get some sleep,” she said.

“I can’t,” Felicity said. 

Mrs. Merriman pulled her over the threshold, settling her on the sofa beneath the window. “Try,” Mrs. Merriman said. 

It seemed impossible that she could ever sleep again. But somehow – perhaps she had simply cried herself to exhaustion – when her mother left her in the soft darkness, Felicity did fall asleep. 

***

Felicity woke late, late enough that sunlight streamed through the north-facing window. She did not realize at first what had woken her, but then she saw Mrs. Cole in the doorway. She looked a mess, her rich gown crumpled, and her hair, rather than swept up with its usual elegance, fell untidily around her face. 

Felicity stumbled to her feet. Her neck ached from sleeping on the sofa and one of her arms had fallen asleep. “Please, Mrs. Cole,” she cried, light-headed with tiredness and fear. “How is she?”

Mrs. Cole looked at Felicity, and for a moment her blank gaze and haggard face terrified Felicity. If Mrs. Cole looked so exhausted and awful, then Elizabeth must be – 

But then Mrs. Cole seemed to focus on her, and her tired face relaxed. “The fever has broken,” Mrs. Cole said. “Praise be."


	5. More Runaways

Felicity wanted to run right up to Elizabeth’s room to see her, but they wouldn’t let her up. “Just to see her! Just for a moment!” Felicity cried. 

“She’s very weak,” Mrs. Merriman said, holding her. “And you’re very tired, Felicity. We can’t risk you getting sick too.”

“I’m less likely to get sick if you let me see her,” Felicity insisted. “I’ll fret myself to death if you don’t – just wait and see – ”

Mrs. Merriman looked tired. “If it were up to me, I’d let you in,” she said. “But Mrs. Cole still doesn’t want you to see Elizabeth.”

“I thought they had forgiven me now that she’s better,” Felicity said, and to her shame, found herself close to weeping.

“And now that she’s recovering, they may yet.” Her mother kissed her forehead. “Felicity, truly you must sleep.” 

Felicity did not think it possible that she ever could sleep. But her mother fetched her chamomile tea, and helped her out of her dress; and Felicity fell on her bed, and slept for the rest of the day. 

***

She woke up at dawn the next morning, her head muzzy and her mouth dry from sleep. She poured herself some water from the pitcher by her bed and drank it, watching the pink dawn filter through the window. No one had thought to pull the curtains, and Felicity was glad. “The reddening dawn reveals the circling fields…”

Pope’s _Odyssey_. Elizabeth had been so indignant over Odysseus’s romantic adventures: “How could he betray faithful Penelope?” she had demanded. 

Elizabeth! Felicity jumped out of bed. Her first thought was to run to Elizabeth’s room, but of course she had to get dressed first, and by the time she was gartering up her stockings, her cooler head had prevailed. Elizabeth was probably still asleep, and probably the Coles still did not want Felicity to see Elizabeth. 

Oh – if that were the case, did Felicity _have_ to obey? Surely, surely such an order counted as a form of tyranny. Felicity gave her head a brisk shake. In the early morning sunshine, it seemed impossible that the Coles could be so cruel. 

Her heart lightened further when she opened her door to the delicious smell of frying ham. Breakfast! It had been a long time since Felicity had eaten a real meal, rather than just snatching mouthfuls of bread in between looking after Elizabeth.

She tiptoed down the stairs, so happy she wished she could dance. She paused a moment at the window, breathing in the fresh summer air, and then leaning forward in surprise at the sight of Bucephalus running across the lawn, saddled and bridled but without a rider. What on earth? 

She could deal with it later. Right now, there was ham to be had!

Tempted as she was by the ham, however, she almost turned back when she reached the dining room, because it was empty but for Annabelle, eating up a few last bites of ham. Annabelle’s pale face reddened at the sight of Felicity, and Felicity felt herself reddening in return; but she couldn’t be so rude as to turn and march back out. “Good morning,” Felicity said instead, and sat across from Annabelle with her head held high. Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke one of Dido’s light biscuits. 

Annabelle didn’t answer. Felicity thought that Annabelle meant to ignore her, and had just made up her mind that, all told, being ignored was better than making conversation with Annabelle – but then Annabelle forced out, “Good morning.” 

Felicity grappled for something to say. “The weather is very fine,” she replied, spreading strawberry jam on her biscuit.

“It’s going to be hot again,” said Annabelle, spearing her last sliver of ham. “Virginia summers are so dreadful.”

“How nice that you’re going back to England, then,” Felicity said. Annabelle’s face, which had almost returned to its normal color, reddened again. Felicity could have swallowed her own tongue. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Will you still be able to sail this autumn?”

“We’ll sail as soon as Elizabeth is well,” Annabelle said. 

Elizabeth’s name speared Felicity. She set her biscuit back on her plate, all appetite gone. “I suppose you want to get her as far away from me as possible,” she said bitterly. 

Annabelle didn’t answer for a long time. Felicity searched her mind for a taunt, anything that would make Annabelle respond, but she couldn’t think of anything to say except to beg to be allowed to see Elizabeth, just once, just to know she was well. 

“Elizabeth told us,” Annabelle blurted. She seemed unsure of herself, poking at the biscuit crumbs on her plate in a most unladylike manner. Her color rose still further. “That it was her idea and not yours to run away. We didn’t believe her, but she insisted most strenuously, and Mother says that when she’s awake, you can see her again.” 

Dear Elizabeth! Felicity’s happiness flooded back. “I ought to have stopped her,” she said. She took a bite of her biscuit. “I should have seen that she would never have suggested such a thing if she wasn’t well.”

“Well of course,” said Annabelle. Her color began to recede, and she said haughtily, “Of course she never would have thought of such a thing at all if she had never met you, but nonetheless it was her idea, and I apologize for – ” And she reddened again, and suddenly all her dignity dropped away. “Oh, Felicity, I’m so sorry I spoke so – so uncivilly to you. I was afraid for Bitsy, and I’m afraid I took it out on you, when you must have been feeling so dreadfully already.”

“It’s all right,” said Felicity, and found to her surprise that it really was all right. “I’m sure I would have spoken just as hastily if I could have found anyone to blame for Elizabeth’s sickness.” 

She smiled at Annabelle. Annabelle smiled back, and they sat for a moment, closer to amity than they had ever been. Then Annabelle said, “Of course it will be wonderful for Bitsy to get back to England and learn real manners again.” 

“Oh, fie on you!” Felicity replied, laughing. 

Soon enough, Annabelle finished up and left. Dido came in to collect her dishes. “Is there any more ham?” Felicity asked, spreading jam on another biscuit. 

“What’s your mother always saying to you about patience, miss?” Dido asked. 

Felicity sighed.

“Least you don’t have to spend the day in a hot kitchen, miss,” Dido consoled her, and swooped back across the lawn to the summer kitchen, leaving Felicity to munch her biscuit and contemplate. 

Would Elizabeth be well enough to go outside yet? Of course Elizabeth wouldn’t be well enough for a forest ramble – oh, how Felicity had longed to show Elizabeth all her favorite places on the plantation! – but they might sit in Grandfather’s old garden. The flowers were still lovely, even if that awful Mr. Jameson had let them get rather overgrown. 

Felicity did not see Mr. Jameson enter the kitchen, but the gunshut-loud sound of the door as he flung it open almost made Felicity fall out of her chair. Dido screamed. 

Felicity shot across the lawn, skirts kilted up to her knees so she could run. Mr. Jameson’s profanity rang in her ears. “Mr. Jameson – ” she shouted, storming into the kitchen. “ _Mr. Jameson, put down that knife this instant!_ ” 

Mr. Jameson dropped the knife. His big fists clenched and unclenched, and his face turned redder and redder, the broken blood vessels in his drunkard’s nose blooming scarlet. Suddenly his hands darted out, and he threw over Dido’s worktable. Crockery shattered on the floor. 

“ _Mr. Jameson_!” Felicity shouted again. She grabbed a rolling pin off its hook on the wall and brandished it. “What is the meaning of this behavior?”

“That bitch’s son ran away, is what!” roared Mr. Jameson. 

Felicity looked at Dido, who had pressed herself against the wall. A trickle of blood from a bit of broken crockery ran down one leg. She stared at Mr. Jameson, the whites showing all the way around her eyes.

Felicity looked back at Mr. Jameson, red-faced and scowling. Suddenly Felicity’s fiery anger at him turned very cold: not dying, but stronger and more concentrated. She would see the man sacked before the day was out. “What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Her boy Marcus! The one you sent off on Bucephalus. Today Bucephalus got back, and no Marcus on him!” 

“It sounds to me like he fell off,” Felicity said. Mr. Jameson’s fists clenched again, and a fiery sense of superiority to him pierced suffused cold anger. She hung up the rolling pin and stepped toward him. “How dare you march in here,” she said quietly, and stepped forward again. “How dare you attack Dido when her son could be lying dead – “ She glanced at Dido, who still watched with huge eyes. “ – or injured, I mean, in a ditch somewhere? Have you no human feeling, sir?”

“Human feeling!” Mr. Jameson scoffed. 

“And if he did run away,” Felicity asked levelly, “why didn’t he take Bucephalus with him?”

“As if anyone would believe that thoroughbred was his!” 

That threw Felicity for a moment, and a moment was all it took for Mr. Jameson to give Mr. Jameson his head. “Begging your pardon,” he said, in a tone that made the words a curse, “But you never should have sent that boy anywhere on that horse. He’s a runner: you can see it in his eyes. I tried to beat it out of him, miss, but some of them are just born bad, and that’s a one of them.” He stopped then, nodding to himself, as if to let his speech sink in. 

Sickened, Felicity could not speak for a moment. Then she said quietly, “I’ll speak to my mother about your continued employment this afternoon. Good day, sir.”

“You fire me, and you’ll have nothing but runaways!”

“Good _day_ , sir!” Felicity said. 

He slammed the door so hard on his way out that the kitchen rattled. 

The ham was beginning to burn. Dido moved it off the fire. “Fetch me that broom, miss?” 

Felicity fetched the broom from the corner. Dido swept up the broken crockery, dancing around the shards. The soles of her bare cracked feet looked leathery, and Felicity felt suddenly embarrassed by her own soft feet, protected by fine kid shoes and carriages from the hard earth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He shouldn’t have…” Her voice trailed off. 

“He’s an overseer. They’re paid to think the worst of us,” Dido said, bending to right the table. 

Felicity hastened to help her. Now that Mr. Jameson was gone she felt shaky all over, as if someone had replaced her joints with jelly. “I’d better…I’d better go after him, maybe, to make sure he doesn’t…try to take this out on anyone else.” She sat hard in the battered cane chair by the door. “Oh, Dido, I am so sorry,” she said. “Poor Marcus!” 

“I’m sure you’re right, miss; my poor Marcus must have fallen off that great big horse,” Dido said. “Well, the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away: isn’t that what the preacher always says?” 

Something in her voice – not enough sadness; too much deference – struck Felicity. Her stomach clenched. She suddenly felt very small and stupid and ashamed, because the overseer had been right – and Felicity had made a fool of herself – how Dido must have laughed when Felicity sent Marcus with that message! Dido hadn’t care a bit if help never arrived and Elizabeth died, clearly. 

And Felicity always thought Dido liked her. 

Even now, Dido must be laughing at Felicity’s addle-pated defense. It would be all over the quarters tonight, no doubt, even if Felicity went after Mr. Jameson right now and told him she’d realized he was right.

The thought made her sick to her stomach. Yield to Mr. Jameson – never! 

She was staring at Dido, she realized; and Dido was staring back. She knew Felicity knew, Felicity could see that in the stillness of her face; and she was waiting to see what Felicity meant to do. 

Well: let Dido laugh. Felicity had played the fool, and she would rather be a fool before Dido than Mr. Jameson. 

“I don’t think,” Felicity began, Her voice sounded high and thin to her ears. She cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s any good looking for him. The tobacco harvest is coming up; we need all hands for that.”

The intensity smoothed out of Dido’s face. “Sure you’re right, miss,” she said. She cut off another slice of ham. “I’m sorry he didn’t make Williamsburg. But you know your mother couldn’t have done a thing for Miss Elizabeth we didn’t do; she would have come through all right either way.” 

Felicity did not know what to say. She wanted, suddenly, very much to be somewhere else – anywhere else – off the plantation, perhaps even out of Virginia colony, somewhere without politics and laws and the suffering they caused. 

The ham sizzled in the hot skillet. Dido flicked a towel at Felicity. Her face had relaxed entirely now, unreadable as if a curtain hung between them. Felicity wondered how she had never noticed that before. “Now you go on back to the big house where you belong,” Dido said. “Breakfast’ll be done soon enough.”


	6. Faithful Friends Forever Be

Felicity burst in on her mother in the breakfast room. “Mother, you have to fire the overseer,” she cried. “He threatened Dido – with a knife! – he said Marcus ran away, because I sent Marcus to Williamsburg on Bucephalus, and – and – ” Felicity stuttered to a halt, trapped between lying to her mother and tattling on Dido. 

But Mrs. Merriman wasn’t thinking about that. “Felicity!” she chided. “Is this the way to greet a guest?” 

Her admonishing tone brought Felicity up short. She suddenly realized that one stocking had fallen down around her ankle, her cheeks were flushed from the kitchen heat, and she hadn’t even greeted Mrs. Cole, who sat across from her mother at the table. 

Felicity bobbed a curtsey, mortified. “Mrs. Cole,” she said. “Mother, Good morning.” What if her lack of manners made Mrs. Cole decide not to let her see Elizabeth after all? “I…I hope Elizabeth is well.”

Mrs. Cole nodded stiffly. She didn’t quite look at Felicity, but she said, “Our Bitsy’s awake. You can – ” Mrs. Cole paused, gathering herself to finish the sentence. Felicity held her breath. “You can see her now.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Cole,” Felicity said. “Oh, thank you, you are so kind. You know I would never knowingly do anything to hurt your daughter. I – ”

Mrs. Merriman stood and gently steered Felicity out of the room. “Don’t give Mrs. Cole time to reconsider,” she murmured as they walked up the stairs. 

Mrs Merriman was often very wise. 

“Mother,” Felicity said. “Mr. Jameson – ”

“When your father is home next I’ll talk to him about firing Mr. Jameson. Threatening our servants with a knife…” Mrs. Merriman shook her head. “Your grandfather never would have stood for that; Dido and Marcus are practically part of the family, they would never run away. I’ll go see Dido and apologize for Mr. Jameson’s behavior. Oh, what a horrible man: shouting at poor Dido when she’s suffered such a loss.” 

Did Mrs. Merriman really believe that, or was she, like Felicity, covering for Dido? Felicity inspected her mother's face, but she couldn't tell; and of course she couldn't ask. The silence seemed thick and uncomfortable, like the air a muggy summer day. Had the air always held secrets like that? Felicity felt, with a heaviness in her stomach, that this heavy secretive silence would hang in the house as long as they had slaves.

***

Elizabeth’s room was dark, the drapes drawn shut, because too much light was not good for the eyes of scarlet fever victims. Elizabeth lay still, her face very pale and white in the dark room. 

She looked so like an angel that Felicity found she couldn’t breath. What if Elizabeth had died, after all?

But then Elizabeth opened her eyes and blinked at her hazily. “Lissie,” she said. She made a little movement as if to sit up, then fell back against the pillows. Felicity gave a little cry and rushed over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and clasping Elizabeth’s limp hand in hers. “Oh, Lissie, don’t cry,” Elizabeth murmured. 

“I’m not crying,” Felicity replied, smiling through her tears. She buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Oh, Elizabeth – ”

“Don’t tire her out,” Mrs. Merriman said. “Felicity, we should go.” 

But Elizabeth stirred. “No, Mrs. Merriman, please let her stay. She won’t tire me – will you, Felicity?” Felicity sat up, back very straight, and shook her head. “And I’ll just fret terribly if we can’t talk,” Elizabeth added earnestly. 

Mrs. Merriman looked between the two, and smiled. “All right,” she said, and gave Felicity a mock stern look. “But mind you keep the talk to light topics, Felicity.” 

“Of course!” Felicity said. Her mother smiled again, and shut the door behind her as she left. 

Felicity nestled in next to Elizabeth on the bed, finger-combing the tangles out of her friend’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re well,” she said. Her eyes smarted again, and she kissed Elizabeth’s hair to hide her tears. 

“I must have been terribly ill,” Elizabeth said. “Even Annabelle cried. Mother says we won’t be able to sail to England till the spring, at least, so I’ll have time to recover. And she said they never meant to marry me to my horrid cousin at all! I feel like such a goose, Felicity. Did I say anything terribly stupid while we were running away?”

“Aside from suggesting we run away?” Felicity asked, and Elizabeth laughed softly. It faded into a cough. “No. Don’t you remember?” 

“Just bits and bobs. I remember running to your house, and riding through the woods – I was _so_ cold – and oh, we met an _awful_ man; he was so rude to you. Did that really happen?”

“Yes! He’s the overseer. Oh, Elizabeth, you don’t know the half of how awful he is,” Felicity said indignantly, forgetting entirely that she wasn’t supposed to excite Elizabeth, and sitting up to face her. “He threatened Dido with a knife today,” she began, and ran through the whole story, her face growing pink with indignation. “And what do you think!” she ended, dropping her voice to a furious whisper. “He – promise you won’t tell?”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, round-eyed. 

“He was _right_ , Dido did help Marcus run away! He didn’t go to get help for you at all. I feel such a fool: I always thought Dido liked me, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sure she likes you,” Elizabeth said. “Everyone likes you. But you can’t expect her to like you more than her own family, can you?”

Felicity sighed. “No,” she said. “You can’t expect that of anyone, no matter how much they may like you.” 

The sudden silence was prickly. “Oh, I’m sorry – ” Felicity began.

“I’m never meant – ” Elizabeth started, and they both stopped; and Elizabeth said, “You go first – ” Just as Felicity said, “You go ahead.”

They looked at each other, and laughed. “I will go first,” said Felicity. “As it was all my fault. If I hadn’t said those thoughtless things about Loyalists to you, we never would have argued, and we could have spent the whole summer together.” 

“Oh, but it’s not your fault, Lissie,” said Elizabeth. “It takes two to make a quarrel. I should have just ignored it.” 

“Yes, but – no, but I shouldn’t have said it – you never said anything so careless about Patriots – oh how silly it is, arguing about whose fault our argument is!” Felicity said, laughing at herself. “Let’s never argue again, Elizabeth. Let’s swear not to.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Elizabeth objected. “You know I adore you, Felicity, but I shall never agree with your poor opinion of _Pamela_.” 

“I still think it would have been a far better book if she dressed as a boy and escaped Mr. B!” Felicity protested. “How _can_ you be glad they wed, he’s a horror!” 

“There, you see! An argument. And we always disagree about Shakespeare, too: I can’t see how you admire Brutus so, when he betrayed…” Elizabeth started coughing. Felicity grasped Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth squeezed back, her grip weak from days of fever, but warm. “I don’t mind if we argue. But please, promise you’ll always be my friend, Lissie.” 

Felicity kissed Elizabeth’s hand. “I swear to you, Elizabeth, however long this war lasts, and whoever wins it, and even if you go back to England and I never see you again until Judgment Day, I swear to you, I will remain your loyal friend.” Elizabeth smiled up at her, a delicate flush in her wan cheeks. “I’ll swear it on anything,” Felicity said. “Even the king, if you want.” 

“No,” said Elizabeth. “Swear it by something that means something to you – swear by the Continental Congress.” 

“I swear it by…by General Washington,” said Felicity, and kissed Elizabeth’s hand again. “I swear it on the Bible, and I swear it…I swear it on our friendship.”

“And I swear it on His Majesty King George III,” Elizabeth said, and laughed softly, almost coughing. “Can you swear friendship on the friendship itself?” 

“Yes,” said Felicity. “Because politics are always changing, but our friendship won’t. Faithful friends forever be – remember?”

“Always,” Elizabeth said.


	7. Addendum: Dido

The hay dust swirled golden in the doorway, so pretty and bright that Dido almost couldn't see past it into the dark stable behind. But she walked through the gold dust into the shadows, and blinked the glare out of her eyes till she saw Marcus, currying Penny's coat. 

Her heart squeezed a little at the sight of him, standing there like he'd always stood there, ever since he'd been made stable boy. He'd never be there again. 

And that was good. But it hurt. 

Dido cleared her throat. "I got you a pass to Williamsburg," she said, and the currycomb in Marcus's hand stilled on Penny's back. He turned to look at Dido, dark eyes questioning. "Miss Felicity wants you to fetch her mother to nurse Miss Cole," said Dido. "Don't know it'll do any good, as I taught her mother everything she knows about nursing. But she wants it, so you'll go." 

"On Penny?" Marcus asked, and his voice, newly deep since last year, still surprised her. Marcus wasn't much of talker; didn't have much use for lying, and sometimes it seemed like there was nothing for a slave to say but lies. 

"On Bucephalus," said Dido. "He's faster, and Penny don't like men anyway." And Miss Felicity did love that horse. She might not make a fuss about Marcus missing, but that horse she'd chase right down to hell to get back. 

"Fastest we got," Marcus agreed. "Guess there's not time to ride him by the garden?" 

And see his girl Rose. It'd make the overseer suspicious - as if he wouldn't be suspicious anyhow. Pity _he_ couldn't catch scarlet fever and die.

"Don't think so," said Dido. "You need every minute to fight these fevers." She took a breath. No crying now. She'd make up a batch of onion soup that afternoon: a good excuse for tears, and good for fevers too. 

She let out the breath, and forced a smile. "So you better go fast as you can," she said, and handed over the folded up pass Miss Felicity'd wrote. Marcus unfolded it. "It all right?"

He read it, slow, his finger under the words. He'd be all right, so clever at everything, she told herself. "Sure enough." 

And he folded it up again, and gave her a hug. His voice had gotten deep, but his chin was just level with her shoulder: still so little, still so young. 

No crying, now. "Go on," she said, and put him away from her. "Saddle up Bucephalus. I got to get back to the sickroom."

She left; and she didn't mean to look back. But she did, when she was halfway across the yard. Marcus stood in the stable door, the straw dust like gold flecks in the air around him. 

She looked a long minute; and then she turned away, and did not look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asakiyume asked for more about Dido and Marcus, and I thought I'd add the snippet here.


End file.
